He doesn’t mind when people call him Edwin’s guard dog. Rather likes it, actually. Not that he’d say that out loud. Sounds weird.
He’d always wished he could have a guard dog, a smart German Shepherd who listened to him and only him and would stand between him and - and, like, muggers, or Stranger Danger, on just a whispered word of command; or a tough street dog that he rescued and who loved him and only him and would throw their life in front of his just because they loved him, rip out the throat of - of anybody who wanted to hurt him.
But he’d always kinda wanted to be the guard dog, too. To stand in front of his mom or his sister and bare his teeth and growl so deep it hit primal fear instincts, made the hairs on the back of - of bad guys’ necks stand up. To be able and allowed to rip out - someone’s throat because they dared to try to hurt someone under his fucking guard.
It’s a noble and ancient profession, being a guard dog.
He doesn’t like being called Edwin’s “attack dog” quite as much, but -
He spits out the blood he’s licked off his teeth, someone else’s blood, the blood of someone who was fucking stupid enough to try to hurt Edwin, Edwin who was under his fucking guard, and grins wide and red. There’s a fine line between being a guard dog and being an attack dog, and maybe it’s okay if other people get confused sometimes.
Hey DBD fam, ive been kicking around DBDtwt for a while, and thought I post some things here. No piece of media has hit me as hard or brought me such light as Dead Boy Detectives.
Its made me a kinder person who understands and appreciates myself better.
I learned so much from the fandom and your experiences and love you all.
I woke up to how remarkably blessed I am that I have had a real life Charles for years and how amazing he is.
I’m better, healed, and my heart remains on fire! So this gameoden was my 1st attempt to say thank you to the best boys we know. 🫂🫂@gameo-archive
Art by @edmcmayonnaise, writing by me! I asked Ed if they would draw little Edwin having a tea party with some stuffed animals I own. They really delivered, so I couldn’t help but write something to go along with it.
Voices—too many voices, too loud voices—crept under the nursery door. Edwin clutched his teapot to his chest, a safety blanket of porcelain. Mummy and Papa had friends over, and their big laughs and heavy shoes shook the air like thunder.
Thunder. Edwin’s tummy tightened at the thought. There wasn’t a storm coming, was there? Last time there was a storm he’d cried at dinner, which made Mummy even more upset than him.
Sun shone through the big picture window, burning Edwin’s eyes as he looked outside. It was springtime now, just after Mummy’s birthday, and the estate flowers were finally in bloom. Bushels of petunias sprouted from the window box, where a bird—a dove? Or maybe a robin?—was building a nest. Bees buzzed happily, butterflies played in the wind—even the sky was bright blue, not a cloud in sight.
See? Edwin told himself. There’s no rain. Don’t be a baby.
Once again, art is by @edmcmayonnaise, writing is by me! If you want to see the last one we made of baby Edwin, you can find it here. One of these days I’ll put them both on AO3, but for now, enjoy!
“This,” Charles thought as he sped down Gibbons Hill, eyes stinging, colors blurring past, “must be what flying feels like.”
Ever since he’d built his first model plane, he’d always wondered, hadn’t he? Would flying be scary? Would it hurt? Or would it be so fun, so fast and free, that he’d never want to go slow again?
Now, with his new bike wobbling beneath him, Charles knew. Flying was brills, and he never wanted to stop.
Until the bottom of Gibbons appeared, approaching far too fast.
Telling Jayden thank you again for his amazing Charles and cheeseburger recommendations😎
Jayden’s cameo page went live again in the summer while “my charles” and I were in the UK… soo it HAD TO BE. The cameo felt like Jayden joined us in our hotel room the night before heading home
Down with COVID so I’ve been sleeping a lot more than usual. Decided to make some ghostboys (who might be aliveboys here since we all know ghosts don’t sleep)….
Some random thoughts:
You know Charles gonna rock those heart boxers
Edwin is definitely a sleeps-with-socks-on-sort-of-guy
Spooning forever - do not separate
I was going to add some bite marks and nailmarks but got lazy. But Edwin’s hair is a little more disheveled than usual so … make of that as you will, haha.
Charles is playing with his football in the office, very shortly after they’ve gotten said office, when a stray bounce shatters something fragile and rare and valuable and he completely freaks out. The less rational part of his brain expects to be hit but the more rational part of his brain is even worse because it thinks Edwin’s gonna ditch him, and he can take being hit but he can’t take being alone, and Edwin just keeps squinting at the ball instead of saying anything -
And then he finally looks up. “Ah, my apologies, Charles,” he says. “I was pondering which combination of enchantments would be most effective at preventing such accidents in future. A warding spell on the more fragile items would be the most obvious, but a number of those objects are too magically unstable to be enchanted in such a fashion, so I was considering causing the ball to redirect itself based on proximity…”
He trails off, lost in thought, and Charles stares at him. “What?”
Edwin frowns in confusion, but puts on his ‘explanation and clarification’ voice. “I assume it would displease you to take the ball down to the street,” he says. “And besides, I enjoy your company when you are…” He blushes for some reason. “When you are enjoying yourself. I am therefore attempting to find an equitable solution. If you could lend your expertise with runes, I believe a combination of runic magic with bespelled enchantment would be most likely to achieve success…”
None of that was the main thing that was confusing Charles but he knows better than to ask someone why they’re not acting mad. You take the gift and don’t look it in the mouth, because looking a gift in the mouth is how you make it remember it’s supposed to be mad.
Which is part of why it’s not until three days later, when Edwin has the enchantments up and running, and hands Charles the football back with a small but warm smile, that Charles finally realizes Edwin really, actually, genuinely isn’t pissed off, at all.
could you imagine ragebaiter Edwin and ragebaited Aziraphale
as well as ragebaited Charles and ragebaiter Crowley
where Edwin frequently misplaces Aziraphale’s books in the bookshop (because it’s already so chaotically disorganised in the ghost’s eyes that it triggers him to no end), and then this happening enough times that Aziraphale had to upgrade his wards to prevent ghosts from entering
where Crowley thinks the whole thing of Aziraphale - the Angel of the Eastern Gate - being enemies with Edwin - an Edwardian teenager - is hilarious and thus encourages it (but not too much, it wouldn’t be on to have the angel upset at him). As a result, Charles gets fed up with Crowley’s stunning lack of help to ease the tension between the two. Not to mention how cool and seemingly laidback Crowley is. The spectre gradually gets so pissed off that he develops an urge to smack Crowley upside the head with his cricket bat whenever he sees him
i just love the idea of the two pairs really fucking hating each other for comedic reasons
if that name doesn’t convince you to give the fic a read, maybe this section of Chapter 6 will:
“I think he’s blind,” Charles told Edwin as they jogged up to Birdie’s side.
“Yes, I noticed that, too,” Edwin agreed.
“Got a plan?”
“Half of one.”
“Cool, I’ve got half a plan, too. That’s a whole plan.”
“I don’t think that’s–” Edwin began, but Charles cut him off.
“Merlin and Lancelot, remember?” he shouted over his shoulder as he broke to the right and charged straight ahead to intercept Birdie’s path. “Brawler and sniper!”
Charles ducked under a massive, flapping wing and whacked the dragon’s lower leg with the flat side of his sword.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Stop!”
Edwin was sure, now, that he hadn’t gone insane yet. He knew this because if he was already mad, he wouldn’t be feeling his grasp on sanity get more and more tenuous with every instance of Charles Rowland’s ill-advised heroics.
One minute Charles was right there, jogging alongside Edwin and talking about plans as if he had ever seen a plan from which he didn’t mean to deviate. Now, for some reason, Charles had bolted off to the side, right at the angry and disoriented elder god, in order to thwack it on the ankle and start yelling.
Edwin was going to strangle him.
yeah, i know Birdie had white scales in the fic, i just couldn’t draw a dragon for the life of me
Basically just a blog of things I love. Including: Our Flag Means Death, Good Omens, Dead Boy Detectives, Hobbit & LotR, Pokémon, Sanrio, Disney, Miraculous Ladybug, Yuri!!! on Ice, cute animals, Japan, anime/cartoons, & more!
